


Our Hell Is A Good Life

by aybeexinfinity



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, So Married, So much kissing, not being able to romance deacon was truly the game's biggest tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 03:03:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10800357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aybeexinfinity/pseuds/aybeexinfinity
Summary: A series of moments in the growing relationship between Deacon and F!SS. Spoilers for the SS's baby but not much else.





	Our Hell Is A Good Life

There had definitely been worse places Deacon camped out in for days on end. This far north, there wasn’t much threat of anything beyond a few small camps of raiders and a few bloatflies. Certainly no deathclaws, the lack of which made _any_ situation infinitely better. Still, he ran into his fair share of trouble on the way up to this dusty old vault all the way from the church. P.A.M.’s intel was sure to pan out, it was just taking a whole lot longer than he thought.

The stocks had been running low when he was heading out, so it would be dirty water for the next while. The ghost town, Sanctuary, was his initial plan for staying at least one night, but someone’s Mr. Handy was still up and running all around the little suburb like the place hadn’t been blown to hell 200 years ago. With those old robots there was no telling what could set them off and if its sensors were still working, he didn’t want to take that risk.

So makeshift post it was. Nothing more than a few pieces of only mildly rotted wood, a triangle of fabric in case it rained, and an old chair he swiped from the monitoring station Vault-Tec left behind. He was _mostly_ sure the skeletal guard wouldn’t need it anymore. Deacon kept a lantern handy and busied himself with chalking up a Railroad sign, reading, and listening to the nervous guy in Diamond City do his best attempt at being a disk-jockey.

It had taken five days to get there, and he’d been camping out another three days. As much as he longed for a shower, all the dirt and grime helped with his look. This go around, it was tattered farmhand clothes, busted old boots, and a small pack. Without his wig and wearing only his shades, he could pass virtually unnoticed as nothing more than a settler.

“WHY…DO THESE THINGS…KEEP FALLING ON ME?!”

The kid on the radio was _not_ having a good time. But as he launched into a new song there was a different sound underlying it. More of a humming that he felt in the ground than something he was fully hearing. With quick hands he switched off the radio to confirm: something was going on underground.

Deacon sat up a little taller in the chair and focused on the massive platform on the ground in the distance. The humming got louder and louder until the cover of the platform slowly began to recede, leaving a gaping dark hole in its absence. The hole wasn’t empty for long though: soon enough a burst of blue could be seen.

It was a woman. Outfitted in a clean vault suit with the numbers _111_ printed brightly on the back, her shoulder length hair was only a few shades off from the colour of her suit. She immediately put a hand up to shield her eyes from the overwhelming sun, and he took note of the 10mm pistol in her grasp. She stumbled a number of times and walked towards not only the edge of the platform but the edge of the cliff. She got so close that Deacon actually got to his feet, tempted to call out to her, but when her eyes finally adjusted and she could see where she was the cliff was clearly the least of her worries.

Both arms fell limp at her sides. She turned around slowly and took in the sight of the Vault-Tec grounds before her. Every car was rusted into oblivion, clothing drowning the skeletons that still lived in them, and a stunning lack of noise. No people, no voices, no machine rumblings, no birds. Deacon watched as she wandered into the empty cabins, coming out with a few seemingly useless items, before returning to the platform.

As she sat on the edge and tossed the gun down, he watched a hand go up to her mouth. Was she crying? He couldn’t tell from where he was sitting. When P.A.M. first talked to him about this mysterious vault dweller who would be a benefit to the Railroad, he had a hard time believing. After all, the likelihood that a vault had survived 200 years without any outside trading seemed impossible. Even Vault 81 took constant maintenance and established trading partners to survive. But the suped up assaultron seemed determined to get this woman to the cause, and Deacon volunteered.

The woman with hair too bright for her deeply troubled posture tugged at something in his chest. Utterly alone in what (if the robot was to be believed) was a brand new world for her, he couldn’t imagine. But the whole vault nonsense was just a story until he heard it from her mouth. And that wouldn’t happen watching her from 100 yards away. He was supposed to trail where she went, dropping hints that would circulate around to her about the rumor of the Railroad. Just enough to get her attention, but nothing too drastic to get the wrong people sniffing around. Whether or not she could survive the journey was a whole other question. Right now, with nothing more than a skin-tight vault suit and a pea shooter? She’d be dead before she hit the Commons. But there was time for her to adjust.

Seeing her now was equal parts relief and apprehension. Relief that P.A.M. was right and this wasn’t a waste of supplies, relief that the sliver of hope he allowed was at least starting out okay, and relief that so far this woman’s behaviour didn’t point to anything bloodthirsty or evil. But he was still a little apprehensive, because she looked…well…broken. Not the kind of broken that Doc Carrington could fix up. Not the kind of broken that a stimpak could reverse. She looked like the kind of broken that could end a war…or start one.

And if P.A.M. had her way, he was here to find out which one this woman would be.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Back before the bombs, cooking had a habit of feeling more like a chore than anything. It was coming home after a long day of work, being just as tired as Nate, and throwing together whatever she could just to get something on the table. It was helpful having Codsworth to do some of the prep work, but she liked the control of doing most things herself. Weekends were a different story, offering a far less stringent schedule and more wiggle room to play around with things.

Since Tesla woke up from her cryo-sleep, food had turned into purely survival. She’d focused on finding anything and everything that was still edible and cooking the hell out of the meat she didn’t think fit the bill. Clean water was easier to get now that the Minutemen had helped put up water purifiers at so many of the settlements but compared to the irradiated lakes and rivers, it was still somewhat of a luxury.

So for her to be cooking a meal, from scratch, with these wasteland equivalents of what used to be common ingredients…it was something of a feat. The meal was something that had been so basic but now, as Deacon kept reminding her, would count as a feast. Flour from the razorwheat that grew at The Castle, salt scraped from the remaining salt shakers littering her neighbourhood, a third of a mirelurk egg to help it bind, and a fresh serving of purified water. She combined these ingredients until it was a solid dough that she could knead on a mostly clean cutting board that sat precariously on her lap. It only took a couple of minutes, the sunglasses-clad Railroad agent watching her intently the entire time.

“I really want to know how the Big One started.” Deacon said to the sky as she began to flatten the dough with a rolling pin. Only when it was done to her standards did she begin to cut it up with a thin wire. “What idiot fired first? Why? What the hell did they think they’d gain?”

“I don’t think it was about gaining anything. I think it was about what war is always about: men and their desire to win, even when the cost is everything.” She was still bitter about it. Sure it may have technically been 200 years ago, but it had only been a few months for her. “All I remember is that…it was October 23rd, 2077. I’d just put up decorations for Halloween. And then Codsworth called us into the living room to hear the newscast. Bombs hit Pennsylvania, I think…Hell, I don’t know. Does it even matter? Nobody left to say who won the war. I guess the comforting thing is the assholes who pushed the big red button are dead too.”

She’d gotten a lot darker than she’d intended, and almost felt bad. It was clear that Deacon hadn’t intended to dredge up bad memories, that he just wanted to talk so he wasn’t sitting there doing nothing while she cooked an entire dinner. The look on her face, though, was apology enough for the salty outburst. Tesla handed him the cutting board, now piled high with her post-apocalyptic attempt at spaghetti (it was more like fettucine, but who was around to tell the difference?), asking him to dump it in the pot of water that was boiling over the open fire.

“Your wish is my…strong recommendation.” He gave a dramatic bow before doing as he was asked. It was enough to put a smile on her face that spread to his.

Everyone in Bunker Hill had retired for the night a while ago, except Kessler who clearly didn’t sleep much. She was happy to let them in, promising that Tony Savoldi still had a room available for the night. Sleep was second on the list of priorities; the both of them were _starving_. It wouldn’t be much longer though; in a second pot Tess had already made up a sauce. If it could be called that. Three mushed up tatos, a few crushed sugar bombs, more water, and what was left of the grilled radstag they’d made on the journey here. Add a few leaves from a mutfruit plant and it was as close to spaghetti and meatballs as she was going to get.

“So…Remember that line you used on me the first time I saw you here?” Tesla asked as he stirred the pasta. The fire reflected off of his sunglasses in roaring, tumultuous waves. She lowered her voice to mock the way he’d spoken to her. “ _Nothing more to say_. Is that how you usually get rid of people who’re onto you?”

“You know, I still think you were tipped off.” Deacon said incredulously, pulling out the pasta at her word and adding it to the sauce. “My _Bob Benson_ persona is a tried and true Commonwealth Classic.”

“And yet, I _still_ recognized you.” She said with a smirk, licking some sauce off of her thumb as she spooned some food into a bowl for him. “Maybe you just aren’t as good as you think you are.”

“Bullseye, you wound me.” He gripped at his heart with one hand and accepted the bowl with the other.

It was true, though, she had recognized him at just about every turn. The first time she saw him was at Diamond City, after Piper had used her as bait essentially to get back into the city (one of her better friendship origin stories). He had been hanging around in a guard’s uniform smoking up. The image of him stuck because the reflection of the cigarette in his trademark shades made it look like he had embers for eyes. That, and he was the least helpful guard she’d ever come across. Just a few questions about Diamond City and he clammed right up, utterly and entirely bored with her. The snub, she’d decided, was far more welcome than the gunfire welcome she’d come to expect from the world. Every street, a battleground.

The second time she’d spotted him was when she was wandering the streets of Goodneighbor. Tesla had been in the middle of trying to convince Nick Valentine that this was _exactly_ the type of place he belonged with his noir aesthetic when she bumped right into someone. His clothes were different, sure, but the sunglasses were the same and the low-toned _sorry, pal_ hit her with a memory. It took her a few moments to place his face, but she went up to him and asked if they’d met. He was very adamant they hadn’t. She felt like arguing—her memory had only gotten sharper since Vault 111—but she didn’t want to push it. Nick was waiting for her in KLE-O’s shop and her back was aching with all the stuff she wanted to sell.

Bunker Hill was the last place she’d seen him before being officially introduced in the crypts under Old North Church. He had been posing as a trader and was the first face she saw once she came inside the gates. Here, she’d confronted him. She asserted that she’d seen him, first at Diamond City and then in Goodneighbor, but when she called him out on it he stammered and said she was mistaken and eventually walked away from her. It irritated her and unnerved her a little bit too. Was he stalking her? It was the first thought that came to her head before she decided she wasn’t important enough for something like that.

When she finally saw him in the Railroad HQ, facing down a woman with a minigun and other armed guards, she was almost tempted to rat him out. But he was giving her a glowing introduction, listing things like her rank in the Brotherhood of Steel, her status as general of the Minutemen, even the killing of Sinjin. It would have been rude to admit she knew him as _shittiest spy around_. Tesla couldn’t put her finger on why, but for some reason she could pick him out of any crowd, in any disguise, on any day. She knew him in some deeper part of herself. And once they actually started running together, he started to accept it.

“You know, this could use a little more flavour…” Deacon said through a mouthful of the food. With a dramatic roll of her eyes Tesla whipped the empty water can in his direction. He dodged it easily, nearly choking on his laughter, but didn’t pull away when she kicked at his foot.

“Next time I’m spitting in it.” She muttered, leaning back against Deb’s counter and feeling the food slide down her esophagus. It was a glorious feeling, especially after such a long day of walking. She thought about the bed that awaited them and as she got near the bottom of the bowl it seemed like an even sweeter promise.

When they both had finished they sat in silence, digesting and recovering. Meg had left her radio on in the far corner and the music drifted over, interrupted only by the sporadic crackles of the fire. _One More Tomorrow_ by Frankie Carle; it tugged at her heartstrings every time. It was romantic and nostalgic and as she stared at the stars glittering in the sky she felt a sudden yearning in her chest.

“Hey, do people still know how to dance?” She asked suddenly, looking over at her companion.

“Oh, sure.” Deacon said, throwing a piece of paper into the fire. He had been propped up on one arm but sat up when she questioned him. “In fact, before the Switchboard incident the Railroad used to have a party every month. We’d teach the synths we rescued how to do everything from the Waltz to the Tango. Even a little Polka.”

With a loud sigh in response to his blatant lie she got to her feet and dusted off her pants. Tesla was trying to clean up their dinner mess when Deacon touched her arm. Turning to face him, he gave a shit-eating grin before taking hold of her. One hand on the waist, the other holding her hers. She hesitated for a moment, just to make him sweat, but conceded and they began to sway.

 _One more tomorrow_  
to see heaven in your eyes  
to have your hand clinged to mine,   
and wander through paradise

 _One more tomorrow_  
to kiss your lips constantly  
and feel the pounding  
as your heart beats next to me

They were a safe distance at first, nothing more than two friends having a little fun. But as the songstress crooned on and the night air chilled them, she found herself closer in his grasp. Tesla’s left hand was on his arm, then his shoulder, then tempting the space just at the nape of his neck. His grip on her back turned from barely there to a certain grip, but their ears were brushing against each other with every move so they never had to look at one another. Did it even count if they didn’t have to make eye contact? It sure didn’t feel like it.

But it sure did feel like something.

She liked Deacon. He had proven to be one of her most steadfast friends since she woke up in the rotting remains of the world. Which was saying something, considering how much he lied to her. But he had her back in and out of a firefight, didn’t ask much of her, and didn’t mind if she sometimes liked to stop and really look at things. Most of all, she found comfort in him, as evident from their current proximity. All these weeks of sharing shitty mattresses, pressed up against each other, it would have been a hell of a lot more awkward if she didn’t. He made her laugh and kept her alive and only _sometimes_ bitched about the junk she carried around (it was mostly because she always gave him the heavy stuff).

Dirty shoes shuffled on the dirty floor in the middle of Bunker Hill’s trade quad. Skin touching and chests pressed together but always, _always_ , silent. Tesla closed her eyes and pretended things were different, pretended the world hadn’t ended and been reborn in its own radioactive ashes. They danced until the song finished and even a little into the next one, but Skeeter Davis’ _End of the World_ hit a little too close to home sometimes.

“Hey, Kessler said you guys need a room?” Tony didn’t look like he’d just woken up, but he did look a little embarrassed at what he’d interrupted. Deacon and Tesla pulled apart, but their hands lingered absently on one another as they turned to face the Barkeep’s son. His hand on her lower back, her hand on his upper arm. Tiny acts of resistance, not wanting to fully let go. Of each other, of the moment, it didn’t seem to matter.

“Yeah, just for the one night.” Tesla explained, finally fully removing herself to get the caps out of her bag. Tossing them over to Tony, he announced that he would go get the room ready. Without any further exchange the two of them cleaned up and gathered their belongings to haul up to the room. It would be another long day of walking in the morning.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Tinker Tom is going to be _pissed_.”

Since it was her fault, it fell to Tesla to carry the smashed up remains of one of Tom’s MILA devices in her backpack. Deacon knew she was holding out hope that with a few replacement parts he could get it working again, but…it didn’t exactly look all that fixable.

“Well maybe he should think twice before trying to get me to tape one of these a billion feet in the air.” She said defiantly. Out of everyone in the Railroad, it was clear she had a soft spot for the conspiracy-theory loving mechanic. Deacon understood. The guy had an upbeat attitude and an air of innocence about him. Tesla hadn’t seen him back when he was in the field though.

“Hey, hold up.” The hairs on the back of Deacon’s neck stood up and he stopped in his tracks, looking over his shoulder. Tesla paused at his word, staring at him before surveying their surroundings.

“What’s going on?” She asked, voice barely above a whisper. It used to be, situations like this, he’d just pop a stealthboy and bug out. But he’d been running with Bullseye for so long now that his original instinct had been overridden. Now anytime there was danger he just wanted to make sure she got out of it alive.

“Don’t mean to make you nervous…But I don’t think we’re alone.” He said honestly, all his usual teasing and bravado abandoned. “Could be nothing, but could be something.”

At that he turned back to her, this woman he had followed into countless battles and had seen more of the Commonwealth with than ever before. He watched as she bit at her lip, eyes going over every inch of the city surrounding them.

“I think we should play it safe and cut through here.” She motioned to the parking garage they were skirting on the edge of. There were probably some ghouls lingering in the darker sections, but it wouldn’t be anything they couldn’t handle. “At least that way we can count on some cover and, if needed, a quick exit.”

“You got it, Boss.”

With their guns at the ready they entered the parking garage. They took careful steps around the rusted out cars that still littered the place but took a small comfort in the fact that there was no sign of recent inhabitants. They didn’t speak to each other all the same, just in case. Maybe it was just that neither of them wanted to admit Deacon’s gut feeling on this stuff was almost always right. As long as it wasn’t Super Mutants, he was fine. His stress level went through the roof whenever that beeping of a suicider’s bomb rang out.

When the first bullets were fired they ripped right through the car beside him. Immediately they both ran for cover, the trouble being it was hard to tell which of these cars could still explode after enough bullets. Tesla cursed under her breath and steadied the grip on her combat rifle.

“Gunners.” She hissed, waiting for a break in the fire before peeking out of cover just long enough to do some damage. Deacon thought they’d mostly gotten rid of the group who called themselves the Gunners when he and Tess obliterated their base in the old Galaxy News Network building to the south. Clearly, that was not the case.

“Listen up, you blue-haired bitch!” One of them roared out. “Surrender now and we’ll let your friend go. We’ve got the place surrounded.”

“Yeah…That sounds fake.” She said to herself before killing the guy who was talking. Deacon took out two more of them before they realized there weren’t any left. “No way they have us surrounded but they still might have backup. Up or out?”

“Up, _then_ out.” Deacon said in a hushed voice as the both of them reloaded. “We can take the walkway across and scale down into the alleyway. Plenty of streets to lose them in once we’re out.”

Tesla nodded to him and with one final check they moved on. Deacon led the way, winding around the abandoned parking levels cautiously. As they walked he registered that one of the Gunners offered to let him go, which meant whatever intel they had on what went down at the Gunners’ Plaza didn’t include him. He was imagining how sweet it would be to point out that his disguises _must_ work if the Gunners couldn’t recognize him, but a few more of the mercenaries showed up behind them.

They were almost at the top of the garage and the reinforcements were few in number. All of them seemed pretty green too, with barely any armor to protect them. No plasma weapons, no rocket launchers; it wouldn’t be hard to put them down. Tesla said she had it covered and asked him to go on ahead and make sure they were clear for the end run. He watched her take out one of them before moving forward. The gunfire echoing behind him and a lack of any cries on her part kept him at ease as he rounded the final corner.

A sucker punch to the gut, however, completely knocked him off his game. With a gun pressed to the side of his head he looked up at the four Gunners in front of him. They immediately took his guns and backpack, dragging him forward and forcing him down onto his knees. He wasn’t their endgame though; they were patiently waiting for his partner to come around the corner, oblivious. Deacon wanted to call out and tell her to run, but before he could get the words out she was standing right in front of him. Every gun immediately went up and when she took a step forward the merc holding him emphasized the closeness of his weapon to Deacon’s head.

“Show’s over.” The leader said. He was tall and scarred and wearing thick armor everywhere except his head.

“Let him go.” Tesla said through gritted teeth. It was a weird feeling, coming to terms with the fact that there really wasn’t an easy way out of this. No simple way that would get both of them out alive.

“No, we’re way past that.” The man said spitefully. “See, the man you killed on the first level? Who offered to let this one live? He was the only advocate for him in our group. He’s dead, so your friend is going to be too.”

“You’ve got me, so let him leave. He had nothing to do with this.” She said quickly, eyes watering as she looked down at Deacon.

It…caught him off guard. It was one thing for them to fight side by side and run missions together. Having someone’s back in battle is good enough. But this was a lethal trade that she was trying to work out; a life for a life. Specifically, _her_ life for his. And that seemed like the world’s worst deal to him. If he died it wouldn’t really matter. He had no family, no real friends. The Railroad would live on without him, especially now that they had her. But Tess? The Railroad needed someone like her. If the Minutemen had any chance of staying true to their original goal, she was it. All her friends back at Sanctuary, all the settlements that she kept up and running and alive…hell she had a _kid_ to go out there and rescue. _She_ was the one who needed to be kept alive, not him.

“You don’t get it, do you?” The man said harshly. “It doesn’t fucking work like that. Not after the way you massacred my people. But I’m not a madman. Put down your weapons, _surrender_ , and we’ll kill this one quickly. But you…either way, we’re going to take our time with you.”

Deacon could see the gears working furiously in her head. Her eyes were darting around the parking garage and the Gunners, trying desperately to find a way out of this. The mercenaries weren’t going to give her that luxury, though. With a steady hand the leader fired off a round that hit her square in the arm. Tesla cried out, gripping at the spot immediately and falling to her knees. Deacon surged forward out of instinct, trying to go to her, but one of the Gunners pulled him back and pressed the gun harshly against his head.

“Fuck,” she breathed, hands shaking slightly.

“Last chance.” The leader said in a bored tone. “It’s over, but you choose how this ends.”

Blood was blooming through the green of her Brotherhood of Steel suit. It looked black, spreading out inch by inch like a big target. Deacon knew she’d get a mouthful from her friends for not wearing enough armor. A chest plate was no good if they can hit you everywhere else. But he could almost hear her excuses as she looked up at him, eyes a mixture of fury and panic. _Tinker Tom said he’d make me arm guards light enough to warrant wearing. This is on him, not me_. When she looked at him, she straightened up a little and brushed her hair out of the way, smearing a little blood on her face as she did it. When Deacon saw that look he was equal parts hopeful and terrified. She wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Well, pal. Looks like we’re in a bit of a…hairy situation…” She flashed him a grin and he would have groaned at the terrible joke if he hadn’t understood the meaning of her words. He was still wearing the black pompadour wig that she liked so much and despite his commitment to his characters, he never actually glued the thing down. It just so happened that his fake hair was what the Gunner was gripping in an attempt to keep him subdued.

As soon as Tesla looked back up at the Gunners, Deacon threw himself down so the wig came right off. It gave him a chance to get out of the line of fire while gunshots rang out a dozen times. The first man dropped was the one who’d been holding a weapon to his head, but when he picked up the thing to try and help he found there was no one left to put down. The last one standing was Tesla, _Bullseye_ , covered in blood splatter and a brand new bullet hole in her gut. She was heaving out heavy breaths and stood on shaky legs, but she had done it. It was how he would describe her anytime some new recruit of the Railroad questioned which one Bullseye was.

 _She’s got freckles, blue hair, and she’s terrifying with a gun_.

“I think I need to sit down.” She said weakly, holding herself up just long enough for Deacon to find some debris she could rest on. There was a visible wince as she lowered herself onto the half-rotted car seat, but that was the least of her problems. Deacon was rummaging through their packs but she stopped him. “We’re out of stimpacks. Used up the last one on that kid at Nordhagen Beach.”

It made him pause and try to rework the plan. How was he gonna keep her not-dead? It wasn’t that far to the Church, but there was a lot of risk for ambushes in between. Not to mention the possibility of Gunners still running around. But they had stealthboys and guns and a knowledge of the side streets. Tesla pulled down the zipper of her suit with her left hand and tried to inspect the damage herself.

“How bad?” She asked, trying to move her hair out of the way but only making things worse. Deacon knelt down beside her, pushing her hair to one side and gently peeling away her suit so he could get a better look.

“Good thing we’re going to church because Bullseye, you are positively _holey_.” With a sheepish grin he looked up at her for a reaction.

“You’re terrible.” She laughed but the sound devolved into a cough, so he refocused and used the cleanest rags they had to stuff against her stomach and her arm before zipping her back up. He took the dirty army fatigues off the dead Gunners and used the shirts to wrap around each of the bumps where the rags were to apply pressure in lieu of any real medical help.

“Alright, up we go. We’re gonna go stealth as much of the way as we can so _someone_ doesn’t get, you know, blown up or something. Again.” Deacon got all their stuff and wrapped her good arm around his neck. With a brief countdown he heaved her up and carefully gripped her waist where it wouldn’t hurt. Much.

“Honestly, these Gunners didn’t have anything better to do then hunt me down?” She huffed as they finally got out of the parking garage. The stairs were hard on her, as evident from the whimpers she tried to hold back, but it was the only way forward. The only way to get her some real help. “Aren’t they usually too busy trying to take over the Commonwealth or something?”

“Well you are just one big, beautiful distraction. Apparently even for them.” He said in his usual playful tone, trying to give her something to focus on aside from the pain. “Like a magnet for bullets…and missiles…mirelurks…deathclaws… Hell, it’s a wonder you don’t have a Behemoth trailing after you.”

“Hey, there’s still time. Don’t count me out just yet.” She grinned at him, but blood was dripping down her chin. A very small part of him was resentful of that kid on Nordhagen Beach. She’d been so quick to hand over the last stimpack when all he had was a little cold. Here she was, bleeding out, and maybe it made things a little easier when someone was to blame. The kid, the Gunners, hell even himself.

As soon as they were on the streets he got them both under the reflective protection of a stealthboy before starting down the path that would lead them to HQ. In a miraculous turn of events the streets were mostly deserted and if there were any more Gunners trailing them they didn’t seem to be making themselves known. Aside from a small group of Super Mutants utterly unaware of their existence, they were able to get right to the doors of Old North Church. Deacon did a quick sweep of the area to make sure no one was around to see before leading her, slowly, inside.

It was a familiar path for both of them once inside the doors. Through the entry room, right in the main hall, and down the stairs to enter the labyrinthine crypts. She needed to take a breather half way through but soldiered on until they reached the door. Deacon made quick work of the door mechanism and was greeted with worried looks from the guards waiting inside.

“Hey, could you go tell the Doc we’ve got something for him to do besides complain all day?” He said while steadying his grip on Tesla. They took careful steps into the deeper crypt before they were finally in the main headquarters. When people saw them and realized what was going on there was a significant shift in the atmosphere. The guard was just finishing his explanation to Doc Carrington who was already prepping an area for Tess to be put down on.

“You ran out of stimpacks?” He asked sharply, sliding on a pair of latex gloves. “How could you be so careless?”

“Maybe we should focus on not letting her die, Doctor?” Desdemona said roughly as Deacon finally got Tesla over to the gurney. Holding onto him as tightly as she could manage, Drummer Boy helped grab her legs and the two of them lifted her onto the metal surface. Carrington drew a curtain around his workstation to keep the others away, asking Glory, Deacon, and Desdemona to give him some space. Before he could leave she grabbed hold of his hand and shook her head.

“Come on Doc, those bullets are still in me.” She said on the table as the others slipped away. “I’m gonna need to crush _something_. He’ll do.”

Doc Carrington hesitated for a moment before instructing Deacon to wash his hands well. The doctor got a stimpack ready and administered it to stop the bleeding and stem any infection. It curbed the pain enough to make a difference but it wasn’t enough of a miracle to numb her entirely. While the Doc was busy sterilizing the tools he was going to use over an open flame, Deacon was tasked with showing him the wounds. He untied the dead men’s clothing from around her and pulled down the zipper of her suit as gently as he could. He tossed the rags onto the ground and got her right arm free from the sleeve. He had to push down her suit a little more to expose the second gunshot wound, which meant going back and taking her other arm out of its sleeve too.

She had blood splatter all over her face and her own blood smeared on her arm and stomach, but all he could think when he saw her was how _clean_ her skin was. He’d caught glimpses before, when they’d been in tight quarters overnight and had to change or shower. But with him and everyone else it seemed there was a layer of atomic ash that was stuck in the creases of their skin. Just enough to be noticeable no matter how hard they scrubbed. Like a genetically inherited sunscreen. But Tess…she looked practically untouched. A lot of things about her didn’t make sense and her sleeping forcibly for 200 years explained most of it but still. He looked at the freckles that speckled her shoulders, followed the line to her throat, and down to her rapidly rising and falling chest. She hadn’t dropped his hand, and instead pulled it right up against her side. It was making him think of things he _really_ shouldn’t.

“Your brachial hasn’t been hit, thankfully, so we’re going to start with your abdomen. This _will_ hurt.” The doctor wasn’t one for mincing words, but there were certainly more important things to attend to. Tesla took a deep breath and said she was ready so Carrington began to dig around the wound for the bullet. Deacon watched as her eyebrows furrowed, face turning towards him and away from the pain as if it would make it stop. She was holding onto him with immense strength but her hands were shaking. He just kept thinking that if he hadn’t gotten caught she wouldn’t be in this situation.

It was sometime in the previous week that they’d established Mercer safe house. When they turned on that radio beacon she’d sat back with a satisfied grin and took in the sights of the place. It certainly needed work, but whichever Caretaker they sent up to this place and the settlers who came here for a new life would certainly make it into a home.

Maybe it was the sunset, maybe it was the lack of sleep (it was neither, but he didn’t like the idea of feeling sentimental), but he had kind of gone off onto a tangent with her. He talked about how he was used to being solo, and how she helped him realize that maybe he’d been missing out. How refreshing it was to have someone watching his back. Then he got a little dark talking about how partnering up usually left you vulnerable or how people you cared about would always be at risk from the Institute if you worked with the Railroad. He made a shitty comment, it was selfish looking back, saying how she was safe from that risk. She looked confused at his words and had sat forward in her chair just to correct him: _I care about_ you _. So I guess I’m just as screwed as the rest of the Railroad._

He blew her off with some lame joke like he usually did but there was a feeling in his chest that felt almost foreign if he didn’t have brief memories of it from Barbara.

The muffled cries of pain brought him back to reality and he watched as the doctor pulled out a crumpled piece of metal from her insides. It clanged as it was placed into a small bowl and he quickly sutured it shut. The process was repeated, with a little less pain, on her arm until she was bullet free and not so holey. Before bandaging her up, the two of them washed away the blood that was drying into a crust on her skin.

“You should rest here so getting up won’t be as painful.” Carrington said as he helped her back into her suit. “And you should really see Tom about getting this lined with ballistic weave.”

“Thank you.” She said sincerely, touching the doctor’s arm. He gave the closest thing to a smile Deacon had ever seen and then turned away to clean everything up. Tesla looked over at Deacon and finally released his hand, apologizing in almost an afterthought. He wanted to stay with her but Carrington kicked him out, and this time the tiredness filling her system prevented her from trying to keep him there.

Deacon headed out to where everyone else was waiting and gave a thumbs up as confirmation that she was going to be okay. The whole room seemed to sigh with relief and everyone wandered back to whatever they were doing before. He even noticed that P.A.M. had been watching, keeping tabs on the mystery woman he’d sent to observe all those months ago.

“So what was it?” Desdemona asked, cigarette burned away almost to the filter.

“Some Gunners with a grudge that wanted to take her out for destroying their base.” He said seriously before giving a brief overview of what went down. Desdemona seemed satisfied with the explanation but lectured him on putting the organization at risk by doing all of these dangerous side-missions with two of their top agents. He let her go on for a bit, wondering if she’d feel differently after hearing the pleas from the locals who’d been bloodied over and over, and eventually she went back to whatever she was discussing with Drummer Boy. Glory, however, sauntered over and leaned against the pillar beside him.

“What’s eating you?” She shoulder-checked him half-heartedly and followed his line of sight to the curtained-off area.

“Tess had me worried for a bit there.” He said in a quiet voice, mind swimming with images of her bloody and cringing and so clearly in pain. At Glory’s silence he looked up at her, expecting her to mock him for it. But instead she looked confused.

“Who?” The realization was enough to make his heart freeze.

“I—Uh, I mean Bullseye.” He tried to recover quickly, but as evident from the look on her face it wasn’t working. She turned to face him fully, arms crossed over her chest, and spoke in a hushed voice.

“I _knew_ it!” Glory exclaimed. “You never shut up about her, for starts. Every goddamn time you’re here it’s ‘You shouldda seen Bullseye’ or ‘Bullseye would love this.’”

“What are you talking about?” He laughed it off, trying to stay as far away from what she was insinuating as possible.

“And not only do you know her full name but you let it slip? Damn, Deacon. You have got it _bad_ for her.”

“Oh my god, is that my MILA?” Tinker Tom’s voice rang out across the crypt providing a much needed exit point for him. He left Glory without even a feeble attempt at denial and busied himself with explaining to Tom what happened to his machine. But a backward glance at the surgery zone and he knew the synth warrior had a point. The thought of losing her fucked him up to the point where he broke one of the most basic rules of the Railroad: no names. Maybe he needed to spend some time away from her…but that was almost as bad as imagining her dead.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

By all accounts it shouldn’t have felt like such a long walk from Hangman’s Alley to Goodneighbor. The streets were, for the most part, safe thanks to the wandering groups of Brotherhood Knights and Minutemen. Small pockets of raiders and Super Mutants persisted, but it was nothing like the warzone that existed the first time Tesla had wandered these streets. The sun was just slipping beneath the horizon, leaving enough light on the streets to keep her line of sight clear. She wasn’t injured or scared or running for her life.

But the journey felt like it took a lifetime.

Her steps were heavy, crunching along the pavement and debris as she winded through the side streets. When she’d first come back through the Institute’s relay, the first thing she did was try to radio Deacon. She’d sat there for at least half an hour, trying to get him on the other side until she was on the verge of begging. When her eyes began to water the Sole Survivor finally called it quits and decided to just walk to their rendezvous point.

All the emotions she was feeling were hammered down deep inside of her, restricted from coming out even a little bit. She wanted to be alert for the whole journey; and Deacon not answering only added to what she was feeling. The settlers at Hangman’s Alley—now a front for the Mercer Safehouse—must’ve thought she looked ridiculous with the way she kept trying that radio. Tesla couldn’t remember the last time she’d wanted company so desperately.

She made sure to teleport back a few blocks away just in case she was being tracked with the chip they’d put in her Pipboy. No one was around to see her materialize out of thin air, and she was glad for it. Now the only remnant of her venture into the Institute, besides her memories, was the busted equipment that once made up the signal interceptor. The settlers were thrilled they could deconstruct everything and make some new stuff out of the parts.

The neon lights pointing her to the city doors felt comforting. She stepped into Hancock’s kingdom and fought the chill that wracked through her body. Tesla was a familiar face here by now and thus got the waves and welcomes that came along with the status. KLE-O and Daisy and even some of the guards. As usual, Clair was unfriendly and cold.

“I’m meeting my friend, Johnny D.” Tesla explained, catching the way Clair’s eyes lingered on her a moment too long. Did she really look that bad? “He said he’d be in room—”

“Your friend is in the room upstairs, top floor.” She said curtly, tapping her fingers on the countertop. “The last one on the right down the long hallway. You’ll have to knock—I only give out the one key per room.”

“Right, thanks.”

Tesla headed up the stairs, unable to get the image of the Institute’s overwhelming technology out of her mind. Everything was clean and new and effortless. The use of an elevator that wasn’t a repurposed construction device that lurched every few feet was something so simple that she hadn’t even considered it on the list of things she missed from the old world. But on the landing of the second floor, where the Hotel Rexford’s elevator shaft once stood, it was filled with debris.

When she finally made it up the stairs to the third floor and wandered down the hallway, past the door where she first met the ghoulified Vault-Tec representative, she hesitated. Her memories of the pre-war world were colliding with the forked way civilization had endured. Pretty and Successful deep under the earth, Ugly and Enduring littering the surface, and the billions of lives that never even made it to this point. Dead on arrival. Burned into dust.

Maybe she was better off like them. Skeletons don’t have to make decisions. Ashes can’t be called to arms.

Her hand fell against the door anyway, knocking in the haphazard way that Deacon had taught her. There was a shuffling noise from inside the room and she took a few steps back, light flooding out as he opened the door. An overwhelming smile took over his face at the sight of her to the point where he almost looked giddy with relief.

“Yes! You made it to the Institute and back in one living, breathing piece.” He exclaimed, moving away so she could enter and closing the door behind her. “And I’m a hundred caps richer. Drummer Boy’s going to be _so_ pissed.”

The room had a double bed made up of two single mattresses squished together, an old ratty couch and chair, a solid desk (which was covered in miscellaneous objects), a surprisingly whole lamp, and a dresser—half of the drawers of which were open and overflowing with clothes. Deacon was dressed up in one of his disguises; he’d been in Goodneighbor ever since she left in order to work with Doctor Amari. There had been some issue with the routes they were using so he was there to spy and make sure no one else was spying. The radio they were meant to keep in contact with lay in pieces on the table; whether it was broken by him or he was trying to repair it didn’t much matter anymore.

Walking over to the bed, which he had covered with a mostly clean sheet that she insisted they travel with, she sank down on the edge of the mattress. Unloading her gear and taking off her armor and shoes, she kicked everything away from her and put her head in her hands.

“Tess, what’s wrong?” Deacon scared her when he sounded worried. It was like seeing your parents cry for the first time; it just felt off. She heard him take a few steps closer but keep his distance. “Did they do something to you? Are you hurt?”

“No…I just…” How was she supposed to tell him? He was the epitome of the Railroad. “There’s something I have to tell you, and I can’t imagine there being a happy reaction, but I…I can’t carry this around alone.”

“Lay it on me.” He said optimistically, leaning against the desk across the room from her. She looked up at him with watering eyes and let out a deep breath.

“The Institute...I didn’t just talk my way through there. They were expecting me. The first person I met was their leader. They call him _Father_. And I…I found my son.” She paused at that, looking to him for a reaction. He straightened up a little, but the marked absence of a kid was all the clue he needed to show that it hadn’t worked out. “It turns out my timeline was off.”

“What do you mean?” He leaned forward a little, like he was fighting off the urge to go over to her.

“After I woke up in the cryo pod and saw them take my baby, I went back under. At first I thought no time had passed when I next woke up, and then when I saw the stuff about Kellogg and the little boy in Diamond City I was _certain_ it was him. That it had been ten years. But I was off, by about fifty. And…” Her voice started to crack so she took a break. After a moment of composure she finally got it out of her system. “It’s him. Shaun. He’s not a kid, he’s an old man. And he’s the leader of the Institute. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do because he’s my _son_ but it’s the _Institute_.”

Deacon was quiet for a few moments, time which she used to catch her breath, and then he stood up. Taking careful steps in her direction, he sat down on the mattress beside her.

“That’s…some heavy hitting stuff, Tess.” He said finally. It was a relief that he didn’t lie and try to tell her it would all be okay. She needed to feel the depths of this emotional shitstorm, but she hadn’t allowed it to bubble to the surface until she was with the person she trusted most. How ironic, that it was the person who lied to her the most.

“I was prepared to just go in there and gather whatever intel I could and come back here to plan how to destroy the place. But now…I don’t know. Does it make me stupid to want to try and convince him to shut the place down? Am I putting people in danger by wanting to save him? God _dammit_ this wasn’t supposed to be my life.” She burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably and beginning to shake. She didn’t even have time to put her head in her hands before Deacon was pulling her into his arms.

There had been times before, on their journeys, when Tesla woke up from horrible nightmares. She would be breathing shakily and maybe shed a tear or two, but nothing excessive. Deacon had gotten pretty used to it and knew what to say to get her calmed down. Whenever it happened he’d stay up with her till she was able to go back to sleep. But this? This was uncharted territory. She had never cried so heavily in front of him, and the embrace was the last response she expected. But _shit_ did she need it.

She buried herself in his grasp, seeking refuge in the wrap of his arms and the crook of his neck and the warmth his body slowly emanated into hers. Everything that had happened since she woke up in that god-forsaken vault seemed to be hitting her full-force.

“I didn’t get to be his mom. I didn’t get to raise him.” She said through sobs, regretting somewhere in the back of her mind the mess she was making of his shirt. “And now that I’ve finally found him I’m supposed to kill him. And _I don’t know what to do_.”

There were a lot of reasons why it made sense that Deacon was the one she was telling all of this to. Despite his ties to the Railroad, he was her best friend. And if he was to be believed, she was his _only_ friend. The months they’d been working together had turned their relationship into a form of codependence. It was a only a few weeks ago that they’d almost had their asses kicked by all the Institute’s synths holed up in University Point—and the Courser that came along with them.

When they’d wiped the place clean, Deacon began to tell her the story of where he was before all the Railroad stuff. The University Point Deathclaws, the lynching, Barbara, her death, and his blood-rage. At first she thought maybe it was just another lie, but he seemed honest and sincere and she believed him. The first few days after the Big Talk he’d sort of distanced himself, like maybe he was having trouble grappling with the notion that he actually told someone a truth about himself. But it passed and soon enough they were even more golden than before. _When shit goes down, I’m with you to the end_. That’s what he’d told her before they started the journey north.  And here he was, being true to his word.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be putting this on you.” Tesla mumbled as she pulled away from him. She tried to wipe at all the tears on her face but he didn’t move an inch.

“Look, I’m not the guy to tell you where to go from here.” He said honestly, shifting a little to face her better. “It’s…This is a shitty thing we’re asking you to do, because family is family even when it’s tough. When it comes down to it, you’re going to do what you think is right. That’s a decision you’ve gotta make on your own, though.”

“I just don’t know what to do.” She said, looking up at him with sore eyes. “I don’t know what to believe.”

“Well if you believe in anything, believe in this,” he paused to lay his hand on her shoulder. “I’m in your corner. Always have been.”

Tesla smiled despite the mood and reached out to hug him. He held her tight but let go as soon as she moved away. With the briefest flicker of hesitation she placed a kiss on his cheek. Deacon told her that they could deal with the big questions later; for now she would probably benefit from some sleep. She agreed but asked if he’d stay with her. At this, the sly grin she was used to bubbled back to the surface.

“What, you think I’d waste a chance to use my Goodneighbor-Drifter’s-All-Purpose-Flannel-Shirt-and-Cargo-Pants? These are pajamas and casualwear and formalwear all rolled up into one.” It made her laugh despite herself and she was _so_ thankful to have him. He wandered over to the lamp and unscrewed the bulb (of course the drawstring wouldn’t work), walking across the brick of yellow streetlight pouring onto the wooden floor from the window.

Tesla had moved all the way over to the mattress that was closest to the wall, and waited for Deacon to crawl in beside her before pulling up the blanket. Just knowing he was beside her was a comfort, but when he settled in facing her back she took it upon herself to reach back and pull his arm across her. He didn’t mock her or pull away or make a shitty joke. He just acknowledged that she needed to be held and kept her close against him.

The feelings that she felt when they touched like this were a subject to worry over another time.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“You good to go?”

Deacon looked up at Bullseye as she entered the room. They were inside an old shop close to the Wall that had yet to be a hotspot for Super Mutants. Half the walls were blown out or rotted away, as usual, but it provided the cover they needed for a final prep session. Bullseye had fixed the wig onto her head perfectly, covering up any hint whatsoever of the bright blue that lay beneath. Where she naturally indulged in some makeup, the persona of Melanie Stokes went plain-faced. They didn’t need too much of a backstory – the meeting would only take ten minutes, if that—but commitment to the craft was something he valued, something she picked up on early in the game.

“Yeah, just about.”

The Railroad veteran was getting into the mindset of Sam Harris, beloved beau of Melanie, 8 years strong. That bit was Glory’s idea. Desdemona liked it better than the brother/sister thing he originally pitched because she thought young love still counted as something of a soft spot for the decent people of the Commonwealth. At the very least, people would pay them no mind. Just two lovers on a getaway to the Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth.

They were both changed into their plainclothes, simple shirts and pants tattered and dirty enough to prove they lived on a farm; but the ballistic weave enforced garments they usually sported now sat rolled up in their packs. When he was certain that everything was set he got to his feet and put on the sweet, dopey smile that Sam Harris would give.

“How’s about we go get you that Big City view now?” Not much of an accent, but just enough of a drawl to become someone new.

“I certainly am ready to get off of these streets, Sammy.” A nickname only Melanie could use for him.

Looping her arm through his, Tesla started them in the direction of the city gates. It was still strange for her, after all these times visiting the place, to reconcile the image of what was once Fenway Park with the Diamond City she’d come to know. She’d only gone a few times, mostly in college with friends, but it was still a strange sight to see.

It was a short walk to the gates of the city, her eyes lighting up with the wonder of someone who had never seen such a place. There were enough guards around to see her reaction, hopefully believing her, to make the entry process go a little smoother.

“Can I help you folks?” The one nearest to the intercom asked. Tesla let her gaze fall to him and offered a warm smile. Deacon pulled his arm free and reached out to shake the guard’s hand. He wearily accepted the gesture.

“Name’s Sam. Sam Harris. This is my girl, Melanie.” He paused so Tesla could give a little nod. “We’ve been listening to DCR for years now, finally saved up enough caps for a vacation.”

“I heard the wall is the purest green left in the Commonwealth.” Melanie said with a hint of awe. The guard looked them over for a moment before pressing the button on the intercom.

“Danny? We’ve got a couple here, wants to see the city.  Look too normal to be synths.” He said into the rusted device. There was a beat of silence before a young man’s voice replied.

“I told you, Mickey, the whole thing about synths is they’re _made_ to—ah, nevermind.” Danny sighed audibly before continuing in a kinder tone. “Just check them for any over-the-top weapons or peculiars.”

“Gotcha.” The guard, Mickey, turned back to them now and set his gun in its holster. “You heard the man, I’ve got to check your stuff before we let you in. Nothing personal.”

“Oh, sure thing.” Tesla said in a sweet voice, easing off her backpack and handing it over. There wasn’t much to be found in either of their bags. Clothes, shitty pipe pistols, some mutfruit, and a hand-drawn map of the Commonwealth with a thick red line marking their route from a place beyond the borders of the map. Deacon didn’t want to risk using a real farm as their origin story just in case somehow someone knew of the place or worse frequented it. More likely than usual, given the traders who pass through Diamond City.

“Okay, you guys should be good to go.” Mickey said, getting to his feet and handing them their stuff back. He relayed the news to Danny who began to open the gate. “Enjoy your visit.”

Deacon took her hand as they walked through the big gate, both of them having been here a million times but having to act like they never had. Waiting for Danny to tell them which way to go, wearing shocked looks as they finally set foot inside the oh-so-familiar city, and wandering around enough so that they had an established presence. It was a delicate balance: they didn’t want to be so noticeable as to draw attention, but being too stealthy risked putting people off by seeming to appear out of nowhere. They needed to be slightly recognizable strangers.

They wandered around the market, walking right by the house she’d bought, and browsed the items for sale from the different merchants. She spent so much time bartering with Arturo whenever she was here that she all but avoided him for fear of being recognized. When they’d made their rounds and purchased a few things they finally headed to their destination: The Dugout Inn.

A few people were sitting outside, each of them glancing up as the would-be-couple passed by. None of the eyes lingered, though. _Slightly recognizable strangers_. Despite this not being Tesla’s first time going undercover in disguise, she had to admit she was worried about interacting with the Bobrov brothers. She spent a lot of time with them when she was in the city; hell she’d saved Vadim’s life. If Deacon was confident in her then she was too, but she still preferred him doing the talking. Quite the reverse of how they usually did things.

The Inn was more packed than usual but that would probably work to their advantage. Walking in, the happy couple, he pulled her against him as they approached the counter. Deacon got Vadim’s attention and asked if there were any rooms available, and with luck they still had one despite all the people. Directing them to Yefim, who they both knew took care of the room rentals, the calmer Bobrov brother took their payment before leading them into the hallway. They turned a corner went all the way down to the furthest room, Yefim unlocking the door so they could go inside. Handing them a second key to use, he told them to see Vadim if they were hungry.

Once the door closed the both of them dumped their packs on the bed and heaved out a sigh. The room was a little dark but when they brought the lamps closer it wasn’t so bad. Tesla’s favourite part about the Dugout Inn was that it boasted functional laundry machines. Nothing ever cleaned as well as it did before the war, but it was still better than nothing. For an additional ten caps, they got some clean bedding for the night and pillows stuffed with enough balled up rags that it _almost_ felt like a good night’s rest.

“He said he’ll be here before sunset, right?” Tesla asked as they unpacked what they needed. “Cutting it pretty close.”

“What’s that old-world saying? _It’s not over till the fat lady screams?_ ” Deacon said with all the bravado she’d come to depend on.

“Sings.” She corrected with a small smile.

“Huh?”

“The saying, it goes ‘It’s not over till the fat lady sings.’”

“So you guys just…walked around singing out of the blue?” He questioned after a moment, taking his notebook and sliding it underneath one of the lamps.

“ _No_ , it’s about operas!” She said in defense of the world that was 200 years ago. “Plays that people sang…like, really intensely.”

“Okay, Tess.” He replied incredulously, clearly thinking she was bullshitting him. Nonetheless, when the both of them were ready they headed back out into the main area and Tesla claimed a spot on the couch. Deacon was off getting them some drinks, so Tesla kept letting her eyes wander to the doorway.

Roger Weaving was a tourist for the Railroad, and their contact for the night. He was a Commonwealth trader who made frequent stops at Bunker Hill and often brought supplies to Diamond City, which put him in the perfect spot to set up this rendezvous. Roger made contact with HQ a few days prior with something urgent regarding one of the safe houses—something he didn’t want to say via courier. Whatever it was, Desdemona thought it was legitimate and worthwhile so she set up a meeting at a spot of his choosing. Diamond City was a logical decision; Roger was convinced he was being followed by some raiders and there’s no way they’d be allowed inside the walls of the city. The old baseball stadium was one of the safest places to be in the Commonwealth.

“One Nuka Cherry, as ordered.” Deacon held the bottle out for her as he sank down beside her.

“Thank you, darling.” She smiled sweetly and leaned into him as he draped an arm around her shoulder. He clinked her bottle with his own and together they drank. Travis’ new, smooth persona narrated over the radio before he started playing _Crawl Out Through the Fallout_. Tesla tapped her foot to the song but before long the not-so-strangers on the couch across from them pulled them into a conversation.

“Let me guess, honeymoon?” Hawthorne asked, the mercenary drinking from a big bottle of Bobrov’s Best Moonshine. He clearly frequented the drink, otherwise he wouldn’t be downing it like it was water.

“Closer to our eigth.” Tesla replied in Melanie’s voice, taking Deacon’s hand in hers and staring up at him.

“It’s our first time being away from the family farm in a while.” Deacon said with Sam’s subtle drawl.

“Eight years, huh?” Hawthorne asked, impressed, before taking another drink. “Bet a room to yourselves is _long_ overdue.”

“Believe me, we will _definitely_ be making up for lost time tonight.” Tesla said with a cheeky grin. The others laughed, Tesla drank, and conversations continued. It was easy to keep up a façade like this with Deacon. Easy to imagine that they _were_ married and in love and out seeing the sights of a brand new world. Almost too easy to forget all the danger and death and destruction that lay just outside the walls. The Institute, the Brotherhood, good synths, bad synths, _Shaun_. Being with him, leaning together and holding hands at the post-apocalyptic version of a dinner party, she could imagine a simpler life. In some ways, a better life.

The different residents and visitors alike were talking about things ranging from boring stuff like the new paint on the wall to how many Super Mutants Hawthorne had killed in his line of work. Sometimes the two of them chimed in, adding their two cents while they waited for their contact to show up. Deacon’s thumb brushed against the back of her hand and she looked down at where their fingers were laced, the glint of old wedding rings catching in the halogen lights. She was still wearing hers, and she’d given him Nate’s to wear for the disguise.

When she handed him the ring back at HQ, when they were picking their disguises from the Railroad’s endless wardrobe, she didn’t think he would notice. But Deacon noticed everything, even things she’d rather he didn’t. He’d paused when she gave it to him, looked down at the metal circle in his palm and held it like it was heavy. Tesla almost felt like cracking a joke, promising she wasn’t proposing, just to cut the tension from the way he had looked at her. But Tinker Tom came up to them, talking about a new mod for the deliverer pistol, and the moment passed. Deacon had slipped the ring into his pocket so quickly that even if Tom _had_ been paying attention he wouldn’t have seen it.

Looking at him wearing it now, how their hands fit together in a familiar way, how she felt comfort in him that was so lacking in the destitute Commonwealth, she almost didn’t want him to take the ring off at the end of the night. Tesla already felt half-married to the man. They were almost always together, they slept in the same bed more than she’d slept alone, they knew each other’s quirks and sore spots and topics to never-ever touch. They made far more physical contact than friends ever should.

But he was still broken after what happened to Barbara. And the best way he knew how to deal with that, besides sarcasm and keeping everyone away, was to bury himself in his work. Besides, she figured if he actually wanted anything more he probably would have done something by now.

“E-excuse me, do you, uh, do you have a Geiger counter?” A man said from the doorway to the nearest resident. He was thin with long hair and a scraggly beard, a faded yellow shirt half tucked into his tattered corduroy pants. The woman he spoke to looked at him with confusion so he moved onto the next person, repeating the question. It was a quick way to tip that balance toward _unwanted attention_.

“Roger, is that you?” Tesla said quickly, getting to her feet and offering a surprised smile to the man. He looked at her with the lack of recognition seeing a stranger warranted, but she ignored this and went over to hug him. “What are the odds, running into each other here?”

“Yeah, I—uh, do _you_ have a Geiger counter?” He asked with just a little fear in his eyes.

“Don’t you remember, Rog? Mine’s in the shop.” She explained with a pat on his back. He sighed in relief at finding the people he was meant to. Deacon wandered over, hands in his pockets, and Tesla pressed a hand to his chest. “You remember Sam.”

“Melanie and I were just talking about you last week, we were going to invite you up to the farm for a meal.”

“Well, how about we fast forward and eat now?” Roger said, gaining more composure by the minute. “I’m starving.”

“Dinner sounds good to me.” Deacon slapped his stomach a few times and the three of them headed to the far end of the bar where things would be a little more private. Scarlett came by and took their orders—Brahmin burgers all around—before disappearing to the kitchen.

“Sorry for acting freaked out when I walked in.” Roger said in a quiet voice. Deacon sat between them, Tesla leaning onto the table to see the tourist. “I’m almost certain that those raiders were following me to the edge of the city. I’m telling you, they’re onto me.”

“How about we take it from the top, pal?” Deacon asked, hands settled in his lap. Tesla kept a pleasant look on her face in case any of the people over near the couches looked over at them. It wasn’t much of a cover if three people looked like they were whispering about some conspiracy. Because they were definitely three people whispering about some conspiracy.

“You’re right. Okay.” Roger took a deep breath in—and was stopped by the return of Scarlett with their food. Once they paid and settled in Scarlett was on her way and they were once again alone. The burgers actually tasted pretty damn good for lack of the diner food she sorely missed.

“Go ahead, we should be good now.” Tesla said with a smile. As she took a big bite out of the burger, she felt the burning of eyes on her and quickly scanned the room. There were two men sitting a little further down the bar who were blatantly staring at her. At first she wondered if maybe it was a weird way of flirting, but they kept whispering to each other in a way that made her think otherwise. She didn’t recognize them, though, so the likelihood of them knowing her identity was minimal. Still, she scooted a little closer to Deacon just in case they _were_ trying to flirt.

“So. I was on my way out of Bunker Hill, I pretty much cleared my cache to Deb. I’m on my way up to Covenant to buy some supplies with the caps I made. Only, I get held up in an alleyway. See, one of the straps on my backpack broke out of nowhere, so I had to fix it before I could go on. And I really didn’t have anything that could help, you know? So I’m sitting there in an alleyway fiddling with this broken thing trying to tie the two ends together, and then it breaks _again_ so I’m cursing up a storm and I’m losing daylight and I do _not_ like travelling at night—”

“Any refills for my customers?” Vadim roared at them from behind the bar. Deacon promised that they were all good and gave the barkeep a nod before plunging back into Roger’s long-winded story.

“Right, alleyway. So as I’m trying to fix the strap, a group of raiders starts walking down the road. You can tell when they’re raiders, just from how they talk, you know? Anyways, one of them is going on about some place that would definitely have some good loot and weapons, probably food. And the other one says ‘ _Don’t you know that Ticonderoga has some serious defenses?’_ And I almost couldn’t believe it, but it’s true. The group of them—maybe five or six—argued about it for a bit before agreeing it would be worth it with a little backup. They were talking about one day next week.”

Deacon and Tesla exchanged a look, knowing that this was a legitimate threat not only because Ticonderoga was a safe house, but because there were currently five synths on standby waiting to be smuggled out of the Commonwealth. It would be bad enough if they lost the tower to some raiders, but the synths that would die in the process left on the promise of a better life.

“You’re _sure_ they mentioned the tower?” Deacon asked quietly, almost out of the side of his mouth.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Roger said with a mouthful of food before swallowing. “Look, I know I’m just a tourist but I’m just trying to do my part. You guys are supposed to tell HQ and get those big timers—Glory and Bullseye, right? You can make sure those raiders don’t get there first.”

“Any clue where these raiders call home?” Tesla asked, wondering what it was about Roger that made her feel an itch in the back of her head.

“Sorry, wish I knew. If they’re planning on hitting the tower, though, maybe it’s easier if you just camp out there and let the raiders come to you.” Roger finished his food and pushed the yellow-rimmed plate away from him. The others soon did the same and Scarlett came by to gather the dishes.

“Well, you did the right thing by telling us.” Deacon said, patting the man on the shoulder. “Thanks.”

“So that’s it, right?” The tourist asked. “You guys go off and fix things now?”

“That’s the plan.” Tesla replied, using her nail to get a piece of meat from between her teeth. “You can stay in the city if you’d like, but we’re going to call it a night which means show time once more. Ready?”

Roger nodded and that was their cue. Putting on their characters once more, Sam and Melanie bid their friend goodbye and stood up from the bar. Sam put his arm around Melanie’s shoulder and together the two of them headed down to their rented room. The eyes from the men before still lingered as she passed, but they didn’t seem to be making any moves if they were planning on it. She tried to steal a look at them to see if maybe she _did_ know them, but they were completely unfamiliar to her.

As they turned down the hallway and slipped into the room, Tesla felt her whole body shrug out of character. Collapsing onto the tattered couch, her eyes focused on a spot on the wall while Deacon rummaged through his stuff to find a notebook and pencil. Once he found them he joined her on the couch, dragging the nearest side table over so he could write on it. He carefully took off his patented sunglasses and set them down—a gesture she always relished. She’d spent enough time with him to know it was a privilege and a profound statement of trust for him to take off the shades. He still couldn’t bring himself to do that at HQ.

“So…just to confirm.” Tesla began, pulling at a loose thread on her shirt. “Something is definitely up with his story, right?”

“Yeah, unfortunately.” Deacon said a lot more sombrely than usual. “Tourists don’t usually know that much about how things work. Name dropping you and Glory was one thing, but the only Railroad members that know about any of the safe houses are either running it, running synths to it, or they’re HQs like us who inevitably have to pull their asses out of a fire.”

“What’re you thinking this is, then?” She asked, hesitant to hear the answer. The word _Institute_ was clawing at the base of her throat to get out, but that brought up too many feelings about her son and the decisions she had to make. “A spy? Someone trying to get the safe house or someone trying to get us?”

“Well with _your_ luck it’s probably the latter.” He looked over at her with a shit-eating grin and she rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what this is, but what we do because of it is up to Des.”

He was half way through the report that would be delivered to the leader of the Railroad upon their return. Deacon always did a write up as soon after an incident as possible so all the details were fresh in his mind, but he was always changing the way he coded things. Sometimes it required a cipher, sometimes it was just the use of signals within the writing, but it was always made to look like nonsense if you weren’t the intended reader.

“I’m gonna grab a Nuka Cola, you want one?” Tesla got to her feet and watched as he scribbled down the page in his tell-tale scratchy writing.

“Yeah, sure.” He said absently while he focused on the report. After a big stretch she left the room, letting the door shut behind her as she headed back towards the main area. Before she could cross the hallway she darted back behind the wall, catching sight of the two men from before at the end of the hall around the corner. Leaning just enough to see them, she listened close to their hushes voices—only just audible above the din from the main area.

“You’re telling me you don’t see the resemblance?” One of the men said to the other, holding up a piece of paper for his companion to see. “Look at the eyes, the nose, hell even the jawline. The description matches.”

“Except for the big thing that’s wrong.” The other man grabbed the paper—which included a hand drawn sketch of a face and large letters that his fingers pointed to. “Blue. Haired. Bitch. Pretty sure that lady had very brown, very _not_ blue hair.”

Tesla’s heart skipped a beat. Squinting to see the paper better, she realized that her fears before were justified. The words “blue haired bitch” were there, plain as day, right below an even more troubling word: _wanted_. Well, Deacon would get a kick out of this: she had pissed off the Gunners so badly that they spent time making their best artist _hand draw_ wanted posters of her face with a promising reward of 5,000 caps. More than most settlers saw in a lifetime. She was half scared and half annoyed. What were they going to do in the middle of Diamond City?

“You ever heard of a wig, dumbass?” The first man said scornfully. “I’m telling you, that’s her in there. I bet we could take her in alive too, get the extra caps.”

“I don’t know, man…If we’re wrong, the Mayor will ban us from Diamond City for good. What if it isn’t her? I mean, she isn’t here alone and the poster doesn’t say anything about backup.”

“Well you heard them out there, they’re supposed to be married right? So…Only one thing happens between two people in a rented room. Especially with the way they were hanging onto each other.”

“What, you want to go listen at the door or something?” Tesla hid back behind the wall at that, a blush rushing to her cheeks at the realization of what they’d have to do to keep their cover. It was a damn good thing they were comfortable with each other…

“If it doesn’t sound like it should then we’ll know somethings up and that I’m right. Then we’ll be rich.”

That was all she needed to hear. Tip-toeing back to the room, she eased open the door and slipped inside.

“Let me guess, they were all out?” Deacon said as she softly closed the door. Tesla spun around and saw he was easing out of Sam’s shirt.

“Deac, I’m gonna need you to follow me on this because we don’t have time for a full run-through.” She was kicking off her shoes and peeling her shirt off before he had a chance to question her. “You’re gonna strip, and I’m gonna strip, and we’re gonna get on that bed and pretend we’re having a real honeymoon or else some Gunners are going to turn this place into a warzone. Got it?”

“I—uh…” He stammered, the slightest red seeping into his cheeks, but his hands worked faster than his mouth did. The both of them shed the clothes but not the personas until there was nothing but undergarments left.  With deft hands she pushed him onto the bed and clambered on top of him, pulling the sheets and blanket up to cover their legs and waists. “So, Gunners?”

“They’ve got me on a wanted poster.” She said in a whisper, eyes trained on the gap under the door that let in dim light from the hallway. Tesla was trying to keep space between them for comfort’s sake but as footsteps creaked closer to the door she knew they had to put on a show. She looked down at Deacon to make sure they were on the same page and he gave a nod to promise he was.

Tesla dug her knees into the mattress to make it creak, but it involved moving like they were actually fucking to get a believable sound. She let out quiet moans that got louder as feet blocked out the light in front of the door. Deacon followed her lead, rattling off some of the shitty dialogue they used to recite in bad pornos. It almost made her laugh which was clearly fun for him but bad for what they were trying to get out of. Reaching behind her, Tesla unhooked her bra but kept it on and settled her hands on her partner’s stomach. Neither of them were addressing the fact that Deacon had gotten hard; the more pressing issue were the Gunners waiting outside their door.

Until they decided to _open_ the door.

Tesla—as Melanie—let out a blood curdling scream at the sight of the intruders. Deacon—Sam—sat up immediately and brought the blanket up to cover his embarrassed wife.

“What the hell are you doing!?” Sam roared at them as Melanie buried her face in her husband’s shoulder.

“Oh, shit.” The man who was right about her identity looked on with wide eyes, the both of them frozen.

“I _told_ you you were wrong!” The doubter piped up. Heavy footsteps stuttered down the hallway until Vadim and Yefim were looking on at the spectacle, just as shocked as the intruders.

“Get out of our damn room, you perverts!” Sam waved them off and Melanie turned to look at them through a curtain of hair. She let the blanket fall just enough to convince them of what they had walked in on. Vadim grabbed hold of both men and dragged them out of them room while Yefim averted his eyes.

“My sincerest apologies. We throw them out, then you get refund. And free drinks.” The room manager said to the floor. Without waiting for a reply he shut the door and the two of them listened as the last set of footsteps faded away.

When they were certain the danger had passed, both of them let out a sigh of relief. Tesla let the blanket fall away and let out a tentative laugh. Deacon’s hands were pressed into the mattress to keep his body propped up.

“So, yeah, that just happened.” He said as more of a question than a statement.

“Those guys were staring at me all night and when I went to get the drinks they were hunched over a hand drawn wanted poster featuring yours truly.” Tesla explained while trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it. “They were arguing about whether I was the girl on the poster so one of them said if we weren’t going at it like a real married couple they’d know I was a fraud. And somehow on that colourfully worded poster there wasn’t a _single_ mention of you.”

“Hey, it’s how we work best. You in the spotlight, me in the shadows.” He gave her a smirk and she lightly shoved him, but the friction reminded them both of their current position. Half naked, bodies far closer than necessary, in a bedroom guaranteed to have no visitors for the rest of their time there—the recent events would guarantee that. “I didn’t mean to get so, uh, committed to the role.”

He half-heartedly gestured to the length of him pushing against the fabric of his boxers and she rolled her eyes, letting out a quiet _yeah right_ in response. He shifted under her and she braced his shoulders with the intention of getting up—getting _clothed_ —but the way their bodies were situated meant his cock dragged against her slit. Even through the fabric, the friction was enough to hitch her breath. She felt a tingling sensation emanate out from her core and looked up at him, felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

Technically, it had been over 200 years since she’d last been laid, and it was really starting to feel like it too. That was her rationale for bringing her lips close to his. And Deacon? Well, he wasn’t really doing much thinking at all when he leaned forward and closed the distance. Just the contact was enough at first, the knowledge that this was in fact a _kiss_ , but it quickly lost its shock value and both of them wanted more. Tesla was the one who deepened the kiss, tongue brushing against his lower lip, but it was Deacon that pushed his way into her mouth.

Tesla’s hands moved from his shoulders to the back of his neck, scraping gently at his skin and moving forward in his lap until they were actually grinding. She let out a whimper at the sensation which did nothing to cool the heat between them. Deacon’s hands tentatively settled on her waist, gripping, but the sound she made in response was enough to spur him forward. With renewed certainty he let his fingers trail up Tesla’s arms until they reached the straps of her bra; gently he tugged at the fabric until it slid right down and off. The first real break from the kiss, they stared at one another with heavy breaths until Deacon’s eyes inevitably ventured down. She let his eyes wander for a few moments, pulling out the pins that kept her wig on and tossing that away too, before crashing her lips against his again.

The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was the flash of her blue hair. And if he was ever going to be honest with himself, that blue, _her_ blue, was the last thing he saw most times he shut his eyes. Real or imagined. She was more stuck in his head than the same ten songs Travis played on the radio. She was too good, too pure, too important for him—and yet here she was. Kissing him. Touching him. Rolling her hips towards him in a desperate plea for contact. She deserved better, but realistically, this was the Commonwealth. Maybe he really was the best she could get that wasn’t mutant or murderous.

Whatever her reasons, this was a perk to partnership he hadn’t imagined in his wildest dreams. Well, he _had_ imagined it. More times than he wanted to admit, even to himself, but those thoughts were never going to cross over to reality. He slid a hand up her stomach and cupped her breast, pausing a moment before gently pressing her nipple between two fingers. Every movement, breath, noise, was the sweetest thing he’d heard.

Tesla’s hand dipped down to the waistband of his boxers, toying with the line for a moment, before finally slipping under and wrapping around the length of him. She didn’t know what she was exactly expecting, but he was _thick._ Her eyes practically lit up at the thought of what he would feel like inside her. His grip on her tightened as she gave a few pumps, the sensation forcing him away from her to take in a sharp breath. The power play gave her more than a little satisfaction, but before making it count she tugged off his bottoms—and then her own. There was a moment of hesitation when they realized exactly what this meant beyond the scope of a shitty motel room in an overrated city.

“Shit, are—are we actually doing this?” Deacon said in between breaths. Tesla paused, chest heaving, and looked him in the eye with her hands digging into the bed. There weren’t many times she looked vulnerable, but the emotion slipped through to the surface just long enough for him to notice.

“As long as you want to, cause I _definitely_ do.” Her voice was breathy and her eyes were heavy and even if he _didn’t_ want to it would’ve been hard to say no. But he really, really wanted this. So he showed her, pulling her towards him and laying her down on the bed. “Maybe omit this part out of your report though.”

“And leave out the highlight of the whole mission?” Deacon teased with a smile that spread to her as he looked down.

“You’re such a nerd.” She said too affectionately for it to actually be an insult. Then she kissed him briefly and danced her fingertips at the line of his black pompadour wig. Biting her lip, she seemed to pause for a beat before asking “No more disguises?”

“Tired of Sweet ol’ Sammy?” He cocked an eyebrow at her and she rolled her eyes but wasn’t able to hide the small smile.

“Right now I’d rather have Deacon.” She said matter-of-factly. It was noticeable, the way he hesitated, but he finally reached up and tugged at the synthetic hair. When he tossed it aside, she finally saw why. For pretty much as long as she’d known him, he shaved his head. Tesla figured it made it easier to change his look or put on different wigs, or maybe he just really liked it. But clearly, something had changed.

Deacon was sporting his true, natural, dark red hair—and it was grown out long enough for her to just barely grip. It was a surprise, but a welcome one. With deft hands she ran fingers through the otherwise hidden locks and took comfort in the fact that they were finally, truly, with each other.

The Railroad agent was more than happy she didn’t ask him about it, because somehow going into depth about his reasoning for suddenly deciding to grow his hair didn’t feel like the best conversation to have when their naked bodies were pressing against one another. It was bad enough how attached he was getting to his face, especially considering how many he’d gone through in the past, but this was the one and only face that _she_ knew. And if he was gonna keep the face around for a while, what if he could grow his hair long enough to style like the wig she liked best? Just thinking about it again almost made him want to cut it off, but the way she was gently tugging at the strands and pressing her thigh between his cleared his mind entirely.

He brought his lips to hers, intoxicated just from kissing her, but moved down to her throat. His right hand moved between her legs, teasing her slit a few times before easing two fingers into the depths of her. He was equal parts caught off guard and entirely turned on from the wetness awaiting him—and the noise that fought from her throat did nothing to quell the swollen ache of his cock. He took his time, moving his fingers languidly while his thumb reach up to brush her clit. The touch made her jolt, her inner walls clutching around his fingers.

All he could think about was how that would feel when he was deep inside her. All this touch, all this proximity to her, she was making him dizzy. And Tesla, well it was driving her mad. If his movements, his kisses, his touches were supposed to satiate her in any way, they weren’t. They only made her hungrier. They only made her need more. He indulged her with a soft bite at the base of her throat, but when the shiver ran down her spine she decided enough was enough.

“Come on, Deac.” Her voice was tinged with a little too much begging than she intended, but his cock twitched against her leg so she figured it worked for him. “Please. I want you inside me.”

Deacon was more than happy to oblige. Sliding his fingers out of her, he paused to kiss her—deeply, sincerely—before lining himself up with her entrance and easing in painfully slowly. Tesla’s nails scraped against his shoulders, her whole body arching up towards him, a muted sound barely escaping her lips.

“ _Fuck,_ Tess.” He groaned when he was finally fully inside her. He let out a few heavy breaths, trying to keep himself from losing it right then and there while giving her time to adjust to the feeling. Looking her in the eye he found the words through the jumbled mess of his head to ask a question. “You okay?”

“More than okay.” She promised, kissing him sweetly and rolling her hips towards him. He cursed under his breath before getting a good balance on his arms and finally beginning to move. It was slow at first, just making sure the both of them could ease back into the sensations, but it felt too good to stay that way for long.

Tesla was almost overwhelmed by all the attention he was giving her. As if everything he did was to make her feel good, and his pleasure was purely incidental. His hands roamed her body, touching and gripping and holding close, and his lips kept her with him time and time again. She wanted to scream, it felt so good. _He_ felt so good. There was a moment where his fingers laced with hers and the lamp light hit their hands just right to cast a glint off the wedding rings. They were both still wearing them; and from the way his eyes followed hers he was aware of it too.

The feelings were something they could go in depth about later because there was too much going on in the moment to have many cohesive thoughts at all. What she did know was that it probably wasn’t fair for him to do all the work, even if it did make her feel amazing. So with the strength she’d had to develop ever since waking up from that vault, she managed to roll them over. Straddling his hips, Tesla steadied herself on his chest and leaned forward just enough so he was scraping against the best spot inside her.

“Is it just me or have we been here before?” He quipped, acknowledging this was the exact position they’d been in to trick the Gunners. She let out a laugh but it tapered off into a moan when she began to ride him.

“Maybe we oughta track down those Gunners, give them a thank you card for getting us here.” She teased, musing as his hands settled on her waist. His stomach shallowed out with every breath, lungs working hard to keep up with his racing heart. As great as orgasms were, there was a lot to be said for the trip that got you there. Ideally, a constant journey of good feelings that culminated in a fireworks display; and the way she was feeling with him deep inside her, it was going to be one hell of a show.

For Deacon, he was already enjoying the best sight in the Commonwealth. Hell, probably in whatever was left of the damn world. Her body was unbelievable, and she had given it to _him_. Even if this was the only time, it was enough. He let one hand trace gently over the two scars she had from the bullets she took for him back in that parking garage. Then he let it fall back down and pressed his thumb to her clit so she could feel a little extra as she rode him.

“ _Mmm, yes._ ” She let out between heavy breaths, her eyes closing at the sensation. The tension was coiling up in her core, a feeling she was familiar with from all the times she’d had to get herself off over the months. Because what, she’d been too scared to ask for this? Tesla cursed her past self for whatever excuses she’d come up with for not making the first move.

Deacon could see that her strength was wavering, her arms starting to shake a little from what he assumed was her getting close to the finish line. He didn’t want her to have to work for that, he wanted to _give_ her that, so with strong arms he pulled her towards them and rolled them over one last time. When she had a moment to catch her breath he kissed her, then bent her legs over his shoulders and held onto her waist tightly.

“Fuck, Tess, you feel so _good_.” He moaned, kissing her leg before thrusting deep into her. There was no drawing things out after that, no more getting held up on the journey. Now it was all about the destination. Deacon leaned forward, bringing her legs with him, and began to fuck her furiously. Tesla began to moan in a string of breaths that went right down in deep of him.

It was all frantic movements and shallow breaths and sweaty limbs gripping at the bed, the mattress, their bodies. Both of their voices were a little too loud, in fact there would definitely be some looks from whoever was still in the common area when they eventually left, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. They were all too entirely lost in each other to care. Deacon cursed and Tesla gasped and the entire world burst into bright colours. Waves of pleasure rocketed from her core, the tensing up of her body finally signalling Deacon that he didn’t have to hold back anymore. He fell over the edge in an unexpectedly intense climax, his whole body twitching towards her again and again as he filled her. He reached down and rubbed circles into her clit despite her gasping breaths until her whole body shuttered again and she cried out, pushing him away from the overstimulation.

He collapsed beside her and the two of them lay there seeing stars for a long while. Somewhere in their recovery her hand found his and she set her head on his shoulder. The room felt hot and the air felt thick but none of it mattered. The both of them were still riding the high but when their breathing finally returned to normal talking felt like a more achievable feat.

“So…Definitely didn’t think that’s where we were heading.” Deacon said with more vulnerability than he’d intended.

“I just can’t believe it took so long.” Tesla said, looking up at him. It made his eyebrows furrow and he turned to face her better.

“You mean you wanted that for a while?” He was lacking all the usual teasing in his voice. Lacking the tone he tended to take when he told her a lie.

“A _very_ long while, yeah.” She said, not bothering to hide the blush that crept onto her cheeks. It felt silly, that they had just fucked and were lying there naked but somehow _that_ was the thing that made her nervous.

“Well shit, Tesla, if you’d told me that earlier we wouldn’t have had to wait for the threat of death to get here.” He teased, laughing even as she slapped his chest.

“I didn’t see _you_ making any moves. For all I knew you already had your eyes on someone else. I couldn’t just tell you I wanted…” She trailed off, avoiding his eyes.

“Hey, you can tell me.” It made his heart jump, thinking what she might say. “Tell me you wanted what?”

“You.” She said in a quiet voice. “Only you. Always you.”

It gave him pause, and he looked down at her wondering how she could have kept that in. He felt a tingly feeling spread through him and he swallowed hard. He didn’t know where things would go, how things would end, but he’d be damned if he didn’t want to try. Deacon wanted to give her the best life he possibly could, given the world she’d left behind.

“Tess, I…” He paused, fighting the urge to look away, close his eyes, crack a joke or tell a lie. He fought against every instinct he had built up over the years that were screaming for him to jump ship, abort mission, avoid this topic entirely. And it took him so damn long that Tesla looked away, assuming the worst. So he turned her face back to him and looked her right in the eyes before finally pushing out the words. “I feel the same. Have for a lot longer than I wanted to admit. You’re the best thing in this wasteland and I… I think I…”

“Hey,” she took the weight off his shoulders by not waiting for him to finish. “I think I do too.”

He’d been so honest that she worried admitting something like _love_ might make his head explode. Deacon leaned down to kiss her, tangling a hand into her bright blue hair, and moving so he was caging her in. Tesla dragged a single finger up and down his spine, practically grinning into the kiss, never wanting the euphoria to end.

“Just to be clear, though, Desdemona _would_ be pissed if she found out right?” Tesla asked apprehensively.

“Uh, yeah. I know it’s hard to imagine a situation where Doc Carrington _isn’t_ the grumpiest person in the room, but I would not want to see Des get this news.” Deacon said, equally as turned off from the idea of Des getting wind of this. “And maybe keep it away from Glory, too…”

“Why?” Tesla said with genuine concern. “You think she’ll be mad too?”

“Nah, but…Well, she sort of knew about how I uh, felt for a while.” Deacon admitted. “I’d never hear the end of it if she found out.”

“Because you’re not used to be embarrassed at all.” Tesla said sarcastically, pulling him down for a kiss.

Deacon felt like making a joke about P.A.M. being a matchmaker instead of a data predicting model, but that would involve a long story he had yet to tell her and honestly it could wait. They had the whole night in the room together before they had to pretend they were just friends when they went back to HQ tomorrow. They’d have to file the report and wait for orders on what to do about not just the threat to Ticonderoga, but the threat of a potential mole in the Railroad. All of this was on top of Tesla’s impending decision about the Institute, but for now, that could all be put off.

And even when it couldn’t be put off any more, they would still have each other to fall back on.


End file.
